After the Ball
by Ekaterinn
Summary: Months after the war, Trowa suddenly appears again when Quatre is standing alone at a ball. This time, can Quatre convince his lover to stay? Yaoi. 3x4.


After the Ball S Warnings: Shounen ai. Implied past yaoi.   
Pairings: 3x4   
Notes: This is set after the war and a few months before Endless Waltz. I'm writing as if Trowa had some prior knowledge of what was going down with Marimeia. I would really appreciate feedback on this, so all comments and criticisms are welcome. I would particularly like to know if my metaphors are clear enough^_~. Also, there's gonna be a sequel set after Endless Waltz, so if you liked this one, please keep a look out for the sequel! ^_^   
Disclaimers: What do you mean, I _don't _own Gundam Wing!?! Injustice! *sighs* I also don't own the wonderful traditional Irish song "After the Ball". *runs off with katana waving in air* 

After the Ball   
1/1   
By Ekaterinn Ciel Duval 

Quatre watched the couples in fine aristocratic dress dance up and down the red and gold ballroom below. From the second floor balcony, he could hear the rustle the dresses and the suits made as their owners waltzed to the beautiful music and plotted against each other. _Politics_. he thought, amused. _It's always politics._ He placed his glass of red wine on a table nearby. Despite the religious restrictions, Quatre drank a little now. He found that, especially at social functions like this, a bit of alcohol helped dull the pain of being alone in a crowd of people. Oh, he could be down there, carrying on with the rest of the peacocks and having the girls flock to him because, after all, he was the young _eligible_ heir of a massive fortune. But he didn't wish it. There was only one person Quatre desired a dance with and he, of course, wasn't here. Quatre didn't really mind. Really. They had all built their own separate lives in the months after the horror of the final battle with Libra. There had been no promises, no guilt when each went their own way. There had never really been any before. War was war and peace is peace. They had both understood that. But without Trowa, all Quatre could be grateful for was the rare chance to be truly alone with himself as himself, and not as as diplomat or a politician.   
As Quatre enjoyed the solitude, he became gradually aware of a quiet, solid presence in the shadows at the back behind him. But even as he started and begun to turn around, Quatre already knew who it was... 

_Biting back a yelp of surprise, Quatre jumped when a dark-haired enigma appeared in front of him. "Oh, hi Trowa." he said with a sigh of relief, his hand moving away from where his gun was. "You really shouldn't just appear at people like that."_   
__ The green-eyed boy blinked and Quatre become uncomfortably aware of how close Trowa was standing to him "I'm sorry, Quatre."   
__ "Don't worry about it." Quatre smiled his warmest smile at this strange creature who made his heart beat so fast. "You just startled me, that's all." As he looked into the depths that were Trowa's eyes, Quatre frantically tried to keep from blushing. It didn't work.   
__ Hesitantly, Trowa brought his hand up to Quatre's face and gently touched it. Quatre shivered. "You're red." Trowa said in a curious, and yet somehow plaintive tone.   
__ Quatre couldn't help it, he blushed even more. "Yeah..."   
__ "Is it...is it because of me?" Trowa said softly, almost incredulously. Those deep green eyes were suddenly full of longing and repressed loneliness. With one eye still firmly on Quatre, he examined his hand upon the other pilot's cheek, as if unsure what exactly do with it.   
__ Quatre breathed deeply, full of sudden joy and revelation. He had the answer that he had cried to Allah for. He had found it in Trowa's eyes. And so, before the other boy could decide to move his hand from the Arab's cheek, Quatre grabbed hold of it and did something he had been dreaming of ever since he first met the mysterious pilot.   
__ He leaned in and kissed Trowa. 

"Hello, Trowa." Quatre spoke easily, smiling his first true smile in weeks as he surveyed his past lover. Trowa had done well for himself in the months after the war. He still favored greens and browns, but he was wearing a well-cut shirt now and khakis instead of his formerly habitual turtleneck and military pants. Quatre could read less tension in him, though the former Heavyarms pilot still had some that was oddly restrained at the moment. _He hasn't killed since the war and he's glad of it. But he's afraid he's going to have to kill again soon. _The blond empath realized. _Why would that be? _Quatre was puzzled, but shrugged it off in favor of just enjoying the presence of his green-eyed love again. "It's been too long." he told Trowa simply, knowing that questions like How have you been? and Where are you living now? were unnecessary between them. They had always thrived on unspoken communication, a fact that annoyed Duo excessively when he made his frequent attempts to teach Heero to say more than "Hn." or "Baka.".   
As the orchestra started up with a new waltz, Trowa opened his arms in response. "Shall we dance?" he asked, his voice as rich as velvet as it always was before. Not hesitating, Quatre slid into Trowa's arms as if he had never left. When he heard the sharp intake of Trowa's breath as their skin touched for the first time in too many months, Quatre realized that Trowa _needed _this. _And by Allah, so do I. _Their bodies pressed together, and they moved slowly to the music. Dancing step after step in perfect unison, they learned to lose themselves in the tangle of each other again _So do I._

_ "What do you mean, you never learned how to dance?" Quatre asked as he stared at Trowa disbelievingly._   
_ A shrug of the shoulders. "It was never a part of my training."_   
_ Quatre looked nonplused. "But I thought...I mean, you're in a circus troupe right?"_   
_ A glint of rare humor came into his lover's eyes. "I don't recall it have been said that having knives thrown at you constitutes dancing."_   
_ Quatre giggled at that despite himself. "Okay, you win." His smile turned mischievous. "But now I get to teach you how to dance...because I, of course, am a very fine dancer."_   
_ Trowa raised an eyebrow and outstretched a hand for Quatre to take. "If you insist."_   
_ The Arab pilot took the warm hand and pulled Trowa closer to him, close enough to hear his heart beating. His voice was scarcely more than a whisper. "I do so insist."_

The waltz ended, as all waltzes must end, and they broke away from each other. For a long moment, the one time lovers looked at each other, content to be in each other's presence once more. Softly, softly, Quatre murmured something into the silence, never once taking his eyes off of Trowa. It was a snatch of an old song that had become popular lately among the aristocratic circles in which Quatre now tread. It had been stuck in his mind lately, for no reason that he could fathom. Somehow, it just felt right to breathe it now. 

"After the ball is over,   
Just at the break of dawn.   
After the dance is ended   
and all the stars are gone.   
Many the hearts that's aching   
If you could read them all.   
Many the fond hope that's vanished,   
After the ball." 

And suddenly Quatre _knew. _Now was the time to make his case, _now _was the time to speak the truth. His heart was telling him so and it was high past time he listened to it. Quatre leaned forward and grabbed the hands of a very startled Trowa. "Trowa, listen." he entreated the former pilot softly. "The war is over, but there's no need to let everything that was good and comforting get lost in the memories of the pain and the bloodshed. The war is over, but that is no reason to let our hearts be hurt nor let our hopes be vanished. I see that now." Staring deeply in Trowa's surprised eyes, Quatre prayed that he saw it too. "We _need_ each other, Trowa. You can read the truth in the way we moved with each other. And so..and so if I asked you to stay..." Quatre drew in a deep breath and prepared to ask a question that he had first asked so long ago. "...would you promise me forever?" 

_"Look at them. They spin like faraway beauties in the darkness. Like something eternal." Quatre said softly as he pointed at the stars in the night sky, still wondrous at seeing those points of lights from the Earth. He could feel Trowa smiling at him and so he turned to face his lover, lying on the soft grass beside him. Moving his hand, Quatre gently stroked Trowa's soft hair. "You're so beautiful." the Arab said in quiet awe. "I love you."_   
__ Trowa took Quatre's hand in his own and softly kissed it. "I love you too."   
__ They laid, face to face, in perfect silence for a while, taking comfort in that wordless way of theirs. And then Quatre, with a hint of wishfulness in his voice, asked "Will you promise me forever? Like the stars?"   
__ Trowa stopped breathing for a moment. "No." There was incredible sadness in his dark eyes. "I can only promise you tonight." And Quatre just looked at him. And accepted it.   
__ Trowa looked down at the grass, ashamed at speaking the truth. But then he felt Quatre's forgiving arms around him and he allowed himself to be held by the lover he knew he did not deserve. They laid curled up, holding each other, hands placed firmly against each other's backs, for a long time. Later, there was more than holding, more than simply touching. And somehow, in the morning, it was all okay. 

Trowa changed the position of his hands so that they held Quatre's, instead of the other way around, and squeezed them tight, as if he was afraid he would never get to hold them again. "No." he said in a strained whisper, his eyes bright with unshed tears. The tension Quatre had seen in him earlier was no longer restrained. "I cannot even promise you tonight." He dropped Quatre's hands and allowed his own to fall to his sides. Seeing the hurt in Quatre's sea-blue eyes, Trowa turned his head away, ashamed at having spoken the truth once again. "It's like this, Quatre." he said quietly, staring at the wall. "The war may be over, but people are still dancing." He finally looked at his love's pale face again. "I just wanted to warn you." he finished brokenly.   
Quatre looked at him with concern. Gently, he kissed both of Trowa's cheeks where tears had began to fall, tasting the saltiness on his tongue. Then he placed a soft kiss on Trowa's lips and stepped away. "Do what you have to do." he said, simply and quietly, through his eyes begged Trowa to tell him more, to let him help.   
Trowa half-smiled a thank you for the unexpected understanding and moved towards the Arab once again. "Just be careful, Quatre. In the months ahead, be careful." he said, a little more in control this time. "I don't want to lose you." He planted a chaste kiss on his only love's forehead. Quatre closed his eyes in quiet acceptance.   
When he opened them, Trowa was gone. 

~Fin~   



End file.
